


War Paint

by littleblackfox



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Ferrets, Gen, Gift Fic, It was supposed to be fluff, PTSD, Pre-Slash, recovering Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 17:38:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13980133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackfox/pseuds/littleblackfox
Summary: “So what do they…” The ferret licks his thumb. “What do they do?”“Sleep, mostly, with the odd bit of mayhem.”





	War Paint

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky and ferrets, layersofsilence said. And it came out sadder than I intended, but also hopeful.

Steve peeks through the bars of another cage. “Hey, Bucky. What about this one?”  
Bucky doesn’t respond, his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved into his pockets, a thin band of silver showing where the sleeve of his coat doesn’t quite cover his wrist. Inside the cage a golden retriever whines hopefully.  
“C’mon, Buck,” Steve coaxes. “Come take a look.”  
Bucky presses his back against the wall and glares. He hates this place. He hates the rows of cages that line the walls, hates the way the sight sets his nerves jangling, and he doesn’t want to look too closely as to why.  
Some days he feels like a tangle of loose threads, twists of fiber that he dare not pull on. Everything might unravel, or he’d yank on a piece and find it was a wire, leading to the tick-tick-tick of another bomb inside his head.  
“You gotta pick one, Buck,” Steve moves to another cage, going all melty over a German Shepherd.  
Bucky twitches. “Not that one.”  
“Why not?” Steve pokes his fingers through the bars, and Bucky fights the urge to grab him by the shoulder and pull him away.   
These animals are _safe_. They’re harmless. They’ve not been trained to track you across the Siberian wastes and drag you back to your prison cell by the throat.  
“I don’t want a dog,” Bucky snaps.  
Steve straightens up, pulling his fingers out from between the bars. He has enough sense to read between the lines, sketch the outlines of what Bucky isn’t saying.  
“Your therapist advised you to get a service animal,” Steve says firmly. “We are getting you a service animal.”  
“Not a dog,” Bucky growls.  
The average bite strength of an adult German Shepherd is 238 pounds. The average human 150. It takes a single pound of pressure to pierce human skin.  
“Not a dog.”

They leave the kennels, and a member of staff, whos smile doesn’t falter in the presence of Bucky’s glare, directs them to the cattery.   
Bucky stares into the cages, and the cats stare back at him.  
“No cats.”  
“Bucky, you love cats,” Steve points out. “Remember when we were kids? You used to feed strays, you’d sneak them into your room in winter and they’d piss on the bed.”  
Bucky bites back the urge to tell Steve cats weren’t the only stray he took in.   
“Ain’t right keeping a cat indoors,” he sniffs. “And if we let it out it’ll get hit by a car. And I will have to find the driver and slash his tires. And his throat.”  
Steve swallows audibly. “That’s a no to cats, then.”

After they have looked at dogs (no), cats (after some consideration, no), miniature horses (definitely no), and parrots (NO), Bucky is ready to give it up and go home.  
He doesn’t need another idiot to take care of, Steve is enough.  
Of all places to look for a service animal, there is something horribly ironic about going to a rescue centre. Unwanted creatures, lined up in cages, without even the mercy of cryofreeze.  
Bucky doesn’t say this out loud, it will only make Steve sad, and Steve is already sad.  
He remembers the cryochamber, the faces peering at him through the glass, and has to go outside for some air.  
Steve brings him a bottle of water, and Bucky sips it slowly while Steve figures out a new plan. He gives up on finding a service animal and settles on the far broader spectrum of therapy animal.  
Bucky rejects fish outright, because even he can admit that he’s touch starved, and hugging Nemo isn’t going to do much for that. He could hug Steve, Steve would like to be hugged, but that would stir up the tangle in his head, and he’s not ready to have Steve’s pity, or his carefully worded rejection.   
Steve refuses to look at reptiles, especially any that can get as tall as him. Bucky sulks a little at that, something he can bond with by sleeping under a heat lamp all day sounds ideal, but Steve won’t have it, so they keep looking.

The small animal area smells like wet sawdust and grass clippings.  
Bucky folds in on himself, watching children running between the hutches of hamsters and guinea pigs. He doesn’t belong here, these are prey animals, and he is a predator. He doesn’t want to be, but it’s there, curled around his DNA like that knock-off serum of Zola’s.   
Helpful people in sweaters emblazoned with the rescue centers logo offer to help him hold rabbits and rats, and Bucky shakes his head, backing away and wandering aimlessly until he finds a quiet room to himself.  
There are no hutches in the room, instead there are cubicles around a meter high and wide on the floor, and the air has a strong, musky odour to it.  
Each cubicle is filled with newspaper and sawdust, and littered with a random assortment of childrens toys and small, fleecy sacks.  
Bucky peers into one, but can’t see any sign of life. The door behind him opens, and a member of staff peeks in.  
“Hi!” she says, a young woman with dark brown hair and red rimmed glasses. “Are you wanting to meet one of the fuzzies?”  
“Uh?” Bucky mumbles, and she takes that as a yes, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her.  
“That’s great! These guys don’t get anywhere near enough love, you know?” She leans forward conspiratorially. “It’s the smell, puts people off. Also if they got out, they’d probably take a bite out of most of the other little fuzzies. No one wants to see them chowing down on Stuart Little, that kinda thing don’t sit so well with the little kids.”  
Some kind of predator? Well, Bucky can work with that. He sniffs the air. The smell is sweet and earthy and strong. “It ain’t that bad.”  
“I know, right!” The girl smiles. “So you’re looking for a pet?”  
“Therapy animal,” Bucky stutters, the words feeling strange and misshapen in his mouth.  
“Oh, well these guys make excellent therapy animals. They are really easy to train, you just need to ply them with treats. And if you don’t have room for a cat or a dog, they’re a perfect choice. They need a good sized cage, and special food, they’re carnivores y’see.” She points into the cubicle, where there is a dish of dried kibble and a water bottle. “You can take them out on a lead, or in a satchel or specialist carry case if you’re going somewhere crowded.”  
“Um,” Bucky interrupts. “That’s… thats great, but what are they? I’m looking around and all I see are empty boxes.”  
She stares at him for a moment, and lets out a sudden laugh. “Oh, they’re in there all right. Just sleeping, lazy little devils.”  
She leans over and taps on the side of the cubicle, and one of the felted sacks starts to twitch.

“What the hell is that?” Bucky asks as a furry little snout pokes out of the sack.  
“Come on, you little varmint, time to get up!” The girl taps at the cubicle again.  
The sack wriggles, and a creature comes crawling out. It’s long and slim, a little bit like a cat and a little bit like a snake, with a pointed head and short, stumpy legs and a bristly tail.  
“It’s a ferret!” the girl says proudly.  
The ferret flops onto its side and yawns, stretching its tiny limbs. It’s fur is speckled grey, with a pale underside (the ferret rolls onto its back and yawns again, giving Bucky a clear view of its soft, furry belly). It has a dark stripe across its nose, like it’s wearing a domino mask.  
 _Oh._  
“Come here, you.” The girl scoops up the yawning ferret. “Someone I want you to meet.”  
She gives it a scratch, then holds it out to Bucky, her hand grasping it just under its front legs, while the rest of its body hangs down limply. With its wide hips and short tail, it looks like a kipper tie.  
Bucky keeps his hands jammed in his pockets. “Does it bite?”  
“Oh yeah,” the girl grins, giving the ferret a little shake. “Just a little nip if they think you need it. They play rough, but they’re not assholes, they’re just testing your limits. So if they bite you and you don’t like it, you just gotta let out a squeak and walk away, act wounded, and they’ll tell you they’re sorry and won’t do it again.”  
“I don’t squeak,” Bucky mutters.  
“Oh, I bet you squeak a little,” the girl gives the ferret a shake, grabbing it by its dangling back legs and shaking it in a quick side-to-side motion. “As far as they’re concerned, we’re just big bald idiot ferrets that need a little bit of extra help.”  
“This your idea of a sales pitch?” Bucky huffs.  
“Aww as if. These guys sell themselves.”  
Bucky bites on his lip, and the ferret blinks peaceably at him.   
“Okay,” he says, and holds out his hand.

The girl shows him how to hold the ferret, and it lies placidly in Bucky’s hands while she adjusts his grip. He’s wearing a leather glove over his metal hand, and the ferret sniffs curiously at it.  
“So what do they…” The ferret licks his thumb. “What do they do?”  
“Sleep, mostly, with the odd bit of mayhem.” Another ferret climbs out of the sack, this one yellow-white with eyes like glace cherries, and the girl picks it up. “People used to use them for poaching, rabbits and so on. Seal off all the holes in a warren except one, and send the ferret down to deal with it.”  
Bucky thinks of the years spent after Project Insight, raiding hydra bases. One man walking in through the front door, and one man coming back out again. And blood, enough to fill an ocean.  
The ferret wriggles in his grip, and before Bucky can gather up his senses it’s loose, climbing up the front of his jacket. It claws at the collar, squirming its way under until its warm little body is pressed against Bucky’s neck.  
“Aww, he likes you.” The girl hugs her ferret, and it thrashes in her grip until she puts it back down in its cubicle.  
“Huh.” The ferret sniffs at Bucky’s ear, its nose cold and dry. “I guess so. He got a name?”  
“Buzz,” she says. “He’s always buzzing around, so…”  
Bucky snorts. “That’s a terrible name.”  
She gives him a sly look. “You’ll have to come up with a better one then.”

Bucky is about to answer, about to carefully extract the ferret from under his coat and tell her no thanks, when the door opens and another staff member peeks in.  
“Hey, do you have a-” They spot Bucky with the ferret. “Oh, thank god. Hey, he’s in here.”  
The door bursts open, and Steve barrels into the room, wide eyed and panicked.  
“Bucky?” He reaches out to grab Bucky’s arm. “I turned around and you were gone. Shit, I’ve been looking everywhere!”  
“It’s okay, I’m fine.” Bucky leans into him, Steve’s grip on his sleeve tightening.  
“I was so worried,” Steve says quietly.  
“Nothing to worry about,” the girl cuts in. “Your boyfriend and I were just talking therapy animals.”  
Steve doesn’t flinch at the word ‘boyfriend’. If anything his hold on Bucky tightens, and isn’t that something that’s gonna stick with him, gonna make him open his mouth and let all the stupid fall out any day now.  
Hell, maybe they’re both stupid.  
The ferret pokes its head out from Bucky’s collar and yawns.  
“What…” Steve stares at Buzz, and Buzz stares back. “What’s that?”  
“That’s Buzz.” The ferret bumps its nose against Bucky’s jaw, and gives it a lick, tongue rasping against his stubbled chin.   
Steve taps under his eye, still staring at the ferret. “He has… your eyes.”  
Bucky snorts. “Yeah, he’s got war paint.”  
“War paint,” Steve says faintly.  
Buzz yawns again, and Bucky turns back to the girl. “I’ll take him.”


End file.
